For a Cold Hearted Bitch, with Love.

How come ugly females think that because they see other women exercising the power of their vagina that they can as well? Why is it that after being dumped, the first thing they believe is that is the guy's loss and automatically believe that they are going to find a hotter guy? Why do they assume that the man is "just a little boy," and that they will find a "real man?" Were you not with the ex because you thought he was a real man? Would you start a relationship with little boy at all, or did you just read this person wrong? Just ponder this for a moment, is there really something wrong with the guy or is it that you are just meeting guys that don't click with you on all the levels of a relationship to where you both fall in love and live happily ever after.

It's 2010. Your relationships will not be like your parent's. For the majority of the population, gone are the times of marrying your high school/college sweetheart. Yes, growing up we all wanted to find our Ross or Rachael, our Corey or Tapanga but it just doesn't work out like it does on television. Your heart has the capacity to love more than one, to heal and love another and is that such a horrible thing? So why be so hateful, so egotistical about our future relationships and sex life? Why not just let go?

Change - A Writing Prompt from October 2009

If I could change one thing about myself, I would change my honesty. I find it easier to be honest with strangers than with myself. I accept too much work and overburden myself. I tell people the truth that we don’t want to hear or know to be true, we just find it not politically correct. This in turn makes me come off as an asshole. A man has no clue about the world because I don’t want to follow the rules. I then get so caught up with all of these petty arguments that I don’t finish any of my work.

If I could change one thing about the world, I would change that what we say to one another. Cut out all the spin and BS that makes up most of our conversations and have us talk honestly to each other. I don’t see anything wrong with telling people what is on your mind so long as it is the truth. We censor ourselves so much that it creates this underlying tension in the smallest of situations. We become paranoid that everyone has a hidden agenda or is trying to hide something from us.

If I were to change then I wouldn’t worry about all this BS that I deal with at work and outside of work. I could focus on my novel and hopefully enough people would read it and realize that there is nothing wrong with telling the people that we interact with, the truth. Or nothing would change and I am just a loon. Who knows, but why are we afraid to find out?

Love Is

I have been cleaning my room and came across some letters I received back in the summer of 2004. I read through them, then turned to face my computer. This is what happened next.

Love is the eight page letters you read while far away in an unfamiliar place. Love is what you feel when defeated, and then see her face. Love lasts forever, but only for one. As time continues for the one who has no one else, it easier to keep that love pure, to keep the fire burning. Yet, for those who have to deal with life and the reality that they are alone, any small amount of affection can shake the foundation and let doubt seep in.

Love is the eight page letters you write, while you read her letters that have dwindled to a page and a half. Love is feeling that there is something happening, but trusting that she stays faithful. Love lasts forever, but only for one. As time continues, you become a faded memory in her mind, a love that did not last. For you though, it is the love you will always remember, the love you yearn for,keeping your foundation solid and your faith strong.

The Christmas Eve Liffe Sucks Post

I took the easy way out. My eleventh grade English teacher told us to live by carpe diem. Bukowski told me to roll the dice. I went along telling all the other lost souls I ran into the same thing. They found themselves and so did I except, I wasn’t able to live with mine. No matter who I am or how badly I try to show my true self, the Army will always come first.
Now don’t get me wrong, the Army has done a lot of good for me. I have been able to learn so much, meet many great people (and many that can burn in hell for all I care) and got to do a decent amount of travelling but enough is enough.
I don’t want security. I don’t want to play it safe anymore. All my risks in the past have been calculated, now it is time for me to get my shit together and be ready for 2012. Why 2012? Well, it is the year I break away from the Army. I will return from a tour in Afghanistan and finally dive head first into life. There will be no safety net, no parents to pull me up. Just myself and the few friends I have had along the way. Will I publish a novel? Graduate college? Hell, be able to pay for my apartment? I have no fucking clue and that excites me the most.
I don’t care what happens. Become a thirty year old bum, a bestselling novelist, the biggest manwhore on the Pitt campus, it doesn’t matter because I will be putting 100% of MYSELF into it all. If the military version of myself is outrageous well then what is to come will be a riot.

What is written above is a piece of shit. Seriously, that there is me trying to force my feelings out on paper. A list will suffice.

Goals: 2010-2012
-Submit and publish Soldier’s Sideline.
-Complete Whore of Alexandria and most of Heaven Ain’t Close.
-Learn to play guitar (and some damn good acoustic versions of songs).
-Learn to play piano (thanks to Ben Folds).
-Become a student of the art of the pickup.
NOTE: As I write this, my nephew has been passed off at me and my sister’s boyfriend thing’s son is harassing me to do “magic” tricks and show me his. He is in the fifth grade and annoys the hell out of me.
-Pay off all my debts, to include my car and possibly pick up a new Mini Cooper.
-Get accepted into Pitt’s writing program.
-Find a nice three to four bedroom apartment in Pittsburgh. Need room to party, be creative and get Clinten’s music career to pop off.
-Furnish the aforementioned apartment with some great shit and a fully stocked bar.
-Shop my first novel and see where it goes from there.


I have known these things for quite some time but it just took me over an hour to list all these goals. Kids played a part. My parents kept disrupting me. A few of the females that I have been talking to have been knocking at my walls and I find myself having to keep getting up to make myself another drink. Life gets in the way of these goals and I fear that they will never happen. I will be just like everyone else; trying to escape this town only to find myself living in my parent’s home, working some dead end job and telling everyone I am just waiting to get my life back on track and get back to school. I fear that the fact that nowhere in this dribble does it mention anything about a relationship, a steady girlfriend, marriage. No I only want to study pickup, write, drink and experience all those freshmen girls as a 26 year old freshmen myself. Yet, the thing I fear the most is waking up one morning in the reality I have been fleeing for years.

A Terrible Try At Poetry, and a Fuck It Attitude To Go With It

I’m not holding on to anything.

I am grabbing as many straws as I can and throwing them into my fire. I am running out of straws though.

They come from close by but I never remember where I got them from.

They all look the same so there is no reason to remember them.

I let them give me warmth then through more straw onto the dying flame.

Sometimes I use the embers to catch fire to the other, but they eventually both burn out.

Then I am left alone, in the darkness, in the cold.

Until I finally move on, hoping that the next fire I build will last longer, but it doesn’t.

The fires die and I eventually find some shelter in a tavern.

There are no women here, no one knows me and anyone that does, does not know I am here.

The bartender only serves whiskey.

We all drink it slowly, the rest of the cold, dead patrons and I, our glasses never empty.

We don’t talk just grunts and the occasional welcome to the newest member.

I stay for awhile until the whiskey does nothing for me, doesn’t even numb me.

I throw on my thin wool jacket and step outside into the harsh weather.

I find a clearing, sit down and start collecting my straws.